Fading
by awordfitlyspoken
Summary: T for violence. CF SPOILERS AHEAD! Post-CF. Peeta has escaped from the Capitol or has been rescued and is fighting in the final battle with everyone else. *STOP HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED* If you want to be spoiled: A Peeta deathfic.
1. Peeta

The horrible clamor of battle fills my ears. The clank of metal on metal. The bang of the Peacekeepers' automatic weapons. The dull thud as spears and axes make their mark. An arrow whizzes past my nose and I glance to the side to see Katniss's perfect shot right into the center of a Peacekeeper's forehead. My own weapon, a knife, feels natural in my hands. My blood is boiling as I hack and stab at my opponents, staining white uniforms red, like wine spilled on a tablecloth. I deflect an enemy's weapon just in the nick of time, receiving a small gash on my chest but still able to twist the weapon out of his hands and slash my knife across his throat. I pick up a spear and send it sailing, bringing another one down.

And then I see it. A Peacekeeper with her shiny gun pointed directly at Gale's back. There's hardly time to react. I run and hurl myself at Gale. Just like the morphling did for me in the arena. Volunteer to take his place, just like I did for Haymitch in the Quell reaping. I take the shot for him, just like I know Katniss would.

* * *

A/N: EEEEE ok I know that was short and unimpressive, but please at least give ch. 2 a little bit of a chance! I promise, it gets better! :D


	2. Gale

In shock I see them tearing off his blood-stained shirt, digging the bullet out of his flesh, cleaning the ugly hole in his stomach. He's still breathing, but shallowly. The start pumping drugs into him, and through my daze I can only form one comprehensible thought: He took that bullet for me.

All I can do is sit there as they try to save his life. The whisk him off to treat him further, and I just stare after them with the image of the bloody bullet hole still emblazoned on my mind.

My hunter's senses pick up someone stirring the air beside me. Katniss.

"Snow's dead," she says. "We won."

I don't respond, and she can tell by my expression that something's wrong.

"Who?"

But all it takes is one more look at my face to know.

"Peeta?" she gasps.

I nod slowly.

"No!" She starts babbling frantically, and her voice is rising in pitch.

"Where is he? I have to see him! What if—I have to—"

I rise and lightly cover her mouth with my fingers to quiet her.

"You can't see him right now," I say. "They're trying…to save him."

"Save him?" she whispers, and her eyes fill with tears that shine in the glow of the fluorescent lights.

She buries her face in my shirt, shoulders shaking with sobs. My arms automatically wrap around her.

"He'll be okay, Catnip," I say.

But I'm not so sure it's true.

We stand there for a long time, Katniss's muffled whimpers the only sound in the quiet hall until Mrs. Everdeen appears in her medical apron and gloves, looking grim.

Katniss unearths herself from the depths of my shirt.

"How is he?" I ask. I'm surprised by how blank and empty my voice sounds.

Something in her eyes tightens when she replies. "He doesn't have much longer."

"How much?" Katniss croaks.

Long pause. "I'd say about an hour, if he's lucky."

I stare at her, my mouth slightly open. I don't know how long I expected. A month maybe? A couple weeks? A few days? But not this.

Katniss lets out a strangled cry and begins to sob uncontrollably. I expect her mother to give her some words of comfort, but it's me who she addresses next.

"He wants to talk to you," she says.

"Me?" I ask in disbelief.

She gives a curt nod. "He's in the third room on the left." Her eyes are till tight. But as I turn to leave, I see something in them soften and suddenly she's out of doctor-mode. When she speaks to Katniss, her voice is trembling too.

As I walk down the hallway, my every footstep echoes eerily. I'm so used to my silent hunter's tread, it's unsettling.

When I reach the door, I hesitate and then creak it slowly open. I feel a sharp twinge of guilt when I see him. His face is drained of color. There are cuts all over his arms and chest. But worst of all is the bandage on his stomach, already soaked in blood. The contrast of the brilliant red against the white is startling. That could have been me, I think.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out the question that's been weighing on my mind since I found out what happened.

"Why'd you do it?"

He looks at me for a moment before he answers, and there's something in his eyes that makes me want to turn away. When he speaks, I can hear the pain in it.

"Because she needs you," he says softly.

I just blink stupidly because I don't know what to say.

"So, what'd you want to talk to me for?" I ask gruffly, finally breaking the silence.

He takes a deep, slow breath. "Actually, I needed to ask you something," he says.

"Yes?" He just saved my life. I can't refuse him.

He looks at me with that steady gaze so full of pain, it's almost tangible.

"Make her happy," he whispers.

I stare back at him, at a loss for words. Suddenly I'm there watching the Quell on the big screen in the town square again and I see Peeta open his locket and show Katniss the pictures inside. Of her mother. And Prim. And me.

"Your family needs you," he had said. I thought he might have been playing for the cameras, but now I knew he wasn't.

I think of the way Katniss had been unreachable for days after she found out the the Capitol had captured Peeta, locked away in some dark world of her own pain. I think of how she's out there right now, crying her eyes out with the knowledge that Peeta will not live to see the end of the day.

And I know that if Peeta Mellark dies, nothing I could do would ever make her truly happy again.

"I can't," I choke out.

"Yes, you can," he insists. Then he takes on a softer tone. "She loves you."

My mouth opens even though I'm not exactly sure what I'm about to say, but he speaks before I do.

"Please," he says quietly. "I need to know she'll be happy. Please, swear that you'll do what I failed to. Please."

He's imprisoned me again in that miserable gaze and I can't look away, can't tell him that it will never happen, can't do anything but comply with the dying boy's last wish.

"I swear it," I say, even though I know I've already broken my promise before I even speak.

When I'm finally walking back down the hall, I still feel trapped by that tortured stare. And I think that maybe he was the better choice for Katniss after all.


	3. Katniss

My mother strokes my hair as I take shuddering breaths, and the tears slide silently down my cheeks. It's been an eternity since Gale left. Each moment brings Peeta's death closer. The thought brings on a fresh wave of tears.

Then I hear footsteps approaching. I lift my head and see Gale with a look on his face that I've never seen there before. My mother squeezes my hand. "You can go see him now."

I stumble down the hall, knowing that every second I waste is another second away from him that I'll never get back. I reach his door, wrench it open, and fling myself into the room. And there he is. Just the sight of causes me to break down into another round of hysterical sobs. Somehow I end up in the chair next to his bed, and he, absurdly, is the one comforting me.

He holds my hand, running his thumb across the back of it, wiping away my tears, murmuring soothing words, until I finally calm down enough to speak.

"I'm sorry," I wail. "I'm wasting time with all my stupid crying."

He strokes my face with such tenderness that it makes me want to cry…and I do.

"Shh, Katniss." His voice is so gentle. "No time with you is time wasted."

I reach up and catch his hand.

"Peeta." My voice breaks. I blink away tears and stare up into his beautiful face.

"Don't worry, Katniss," he says softly. "It's better this way."

"What are you saying?" I sniff.

"…better me than him."

I stare at him dumbly for a second before I realize what he's saying. "No," I manage to choke out. "I need you!"

Something deep down in those perfect blue eyes flickers, and I know he can hear the truth of my words. But he just shakes his head slightly.

"No. You have Gale," he says.

Somehow this upsets me. I know I shouldn't be ruining our last moments together by arguing, but when I reply I find that my voice has risen almost to a shout.

"Why are you saying this?" I half-yell. "Do you honestly think Gale can replace you? Why are you doing this to me?"

As soon as I see his reaction I immediately regret it. His face crumples in pain, and he looks down at his linen sheets. I close my mouth, my cheeks flaming with guilt. I don't know what to say now, so I just cast my eyes downward. The silence resonates in my ears, echoing with imaginary ticks of the clock, but I can't find a way to break it.

After a long pause, Peeta speaks.

"I'm sorry," he says in a small voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you." His eyebrows come together, as if the very thought of it pains him.

"Peeta, I didn't mean--"

"It doesn't matter. I know this will be hard for you, but you'll get through it. Gale…you love him. He'll be able to heal you."

I hardly know what to think. Peeta was always so good at persuasion. He could use his depth of emotion to move a whole crowd. And now here, on his deathbed, he's using his gift to persuade me to be with Gale. To forget him entirely. I'd always thought of Peeta as an unselfish person, but now I'm stunned by his seflessness.

"I'm sorry that I failed you, Katniss. Ever since my name was pulled at the Reaping I wanted to be strong for you. But I always ended up the weak one," he says bitterly.

I look up, taken aback. "Peeta, you're not weak."

"I was always holding you back in the Games," he says, dropping his gaze again. "And I held you back from the person you really love." Then he lifts his eyes up again. "But I won't hold you back from Gale any longer."

I stare at him, at a loss for words. He stares back at me intently with those blue eyes that reflect the whole world. It surprises me how lucid Peeta is in the last moments of his life, with that endless flow of bright red blood seeping through his bandage, seeping the life out of him.

"He's the strong one, Katniss," he continues. "He can protect you. Keep you safe. Make you happy…all the things I never could." His voice fills with hollow anguish, and it scares me. It sounds just like that time when he offered me his hand on the train. When I thought I'd lost him forever. I can't lose him. Not again.

I take his hand in both of mine. "Peeta," I say gently, "you do make me happy."

As the words leave my lips I float back through time to all those precious moments when I left the worries of the world behind with Peeta. In my room, taking in the way he could make his sketches bloom to life on the page with a few simple strokes of his pencil. Lost in a blissful, dreamless sleep with him by my side. On the roof, watching the sunset with those glowing hues that could have been brushed across the sky with paint from Peeta's palette. Even in the Games he gave me those little moments that I will always remember. In our cave, feeling safe for the first time in forever, encompassed in his strong arms. That stirring deep inside from our first real kiss. That same spark on the beach in the Quell, this time uninterrupted for a little longer…

He looks at me curiously, as if trying to decide if I'm lying or not. It breaks my heart to think that through all this time, he thinks he's never given me anything I would treasure.

Peeta shakes his head slowly. "Not like he does."

How can I make him believe me? Know how right it feels to me when his hand is in mine? Understand how utterly lost I would be without him here?

A lump begins to form in my throat as the truth sinks in like a slow poison; that I would be without him. Soon. I scoot my chair closer and lay my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. And it's not the sure, steady thud that I'm used to. It's weaker, fainter. Already he's starting to fade away. And I know that now is the time I have to tell him what I finally understood after all those months when I was away from him, thinking about him being tortured by the Capitol, wishing desperately to be enveloped in his embrace again. The reason that I need him so much.

I lift my head. "Peeta, I love you," I say. My voice is only a whisper, but it rings with truth.

He stares at me for a long moment, and I'm lost in the endless ocean of his eyes. A million emotions roll across the turmoil of gray waves there. He opens his mouth several times to speak, but says nothing. Finally, the veil of stormy clouds is lifted, and his eyes are a perfect, clear blue sky.

"Katniss," he whispers. His whole face is lit up and the glow makes him look so healthy and whole that it seems impossible that he's here on this hospital bed, dying slowly.

He raises our linked fingers and brushes his lips across the back of my hand. "Katniss, I have always loved you and I always will," he murmers.

Suddenly, I'm overcome by the fact that he's finally here, with me, my hand entwined with his and still tingling from the touch of his perfect lips, and I reach up and kiss him. No cameras. No pressure. Just because I want to. Because I love him.

When I pull away I find that Peeta's looking at me the same way I've seen him a million times. Like he could just lie there and stare at me forever. Sometimes this might make me feel uncomfortable or guilty, but now it fills me with a rush of warmth. And peace. I've finally found my place. Here, beside Peeta, is where I know I belong.

Those terrifying minutes of tears, waiting for my turn to see him for the last time, seem a distant memory now. This moment is so perfect, so right, that it's unimaginable to think that Peeta is dying. I've pushed it away, forgotten it. Impossible.

But Peeta's breathing is becoming more and more shallow. The evil wound sucking the glow out of his cheeks. I stare into his eyes and with horror see that something in them is fading. He's losing that cloudless blue sky. Maybe I just didn't notice through my own personal bliss, but nothing has changed. Peeta is still dying.

As his heartbeat gets weaker, mine pounds all the more fiercely. I want to call my mother back in to save him, but I can't form the words, can't bring myself to leave him. All I can do is watch as the light fades from Peeta's eyes.

"I love you," he croaks.

And then his eyes close.

"Peeta?" I whisper. I desperately press his hand, still held in mine, to my cheek, but already it's losing its warmth. I let it go and it falls limply to his sheets. I bring my fingers across his lips, but feel no breath. Frantically I push my ear to his chest to listen for his heart. Nothing.

"No," I say softly. Somehow this seems all too familiar, and I look around hopelessly, half expecting Finnick to emerge from the shadows and pump the life back into him. But no one comes.

I sit there despairingly as Peeta continues to get colder. He can't be dead. This can't be right. This must be a nightmare. Any moment I'll wake up, thrashing, and Peeta will be there right beside me to calm me down.

But I don't wake up, and the horrible reality seeps into my body, freezing my blood and turning my heart to ice. "No," I say again. "No. NO. NO! PEETA!" I scream.

I hear running footsteps down the hall, but I don't care. I just cling to Peeta's hand, all the while screaming, slapping his cold face, shaking him, anything to wake him up, and me, from this horrible nightmare.

Someone bursts through the door. I ignore them, but they refuse to go unnoticed. They're yanking me away from Peeta, prying my frozen fingers open. I scream and fight. They can't take me away from him.

Two of them lock their arms around me and drag me away. I try kicking, scratching, biting, anything, but I'm trapped. They haul me out of the room and deposit me in a heap in the hallway. I lie there, shaking, until someone picks me up off the ground effortlessly and set me on my feet. I would recognize that scent anywhere. Gale. He wraps his arms around me to comfort me, but I push him harshly away. Those aren't the arms I want. Those aren't the arms shielded me from my nightmares. Not the arms that I dreamed about being held by for all those lonely months.

I turn and begin to bang violently on the door. Rattle the knob with a frenzied insanity. Hurl myself against the metal with all my might. But it won't budge. Only this door separates me from Peeta, and I can't get to him.

Gale's arms, so gentle before, are like a vice now, imprisoning me. The only thing I can do is scream. And so I scream. Scream so loud that its echoes reverberate throughout the hallway. Scream at Gale for holding me back, at Peeta for dying, at those horrible people inside for keeping me out, at the Capitol for doing this to me. I scream until my head aches, my throat is raw, my insides on fire. Scream until I have nothing left.

But it doesn't matter.

The boy with the bread is gone.


End file.
